Of War Tales and Puppy Dog Tails
by Spockologist
Summary: A recently returned from Afghanistan Watson is feeling a little lonely until one night, a small bull pup wanders into his life.  Half fluff, half serious.
1. Chapter 1

**Yes, I know Watson did not actually own a bull pup. But I think that given his frame of mind after Afghanistan, he deserved a little companion. This is the story of how they meet.**

I stood staring passively at the road in front of me. Cabs and private carriages all rolled past without a care in the world to the rugged looking fellow on the pavement. One ill planned step and I could be conveniently erased from the world and no one would notice. Being trampled to death by horses was not a heroic death; nor was it very creative and I quickly dismissed the idea from my mind. I had not struggled to live only to give up in a cowardly show of suicide.

Sighing heavily, I turned myself away from the curb and limped down the street. I had no where important to be; no appointments, or relatives to hurry me along. It was nothing but the sheer loathing of my solitary hotel room that kept me walking. During the day, I could occupy myself with random bits of entertainment. A walk in the park if my leg did not pain me terribly, or perhaps a game or two of poker at a cheap gentlemen's club was effective enough to pass the time. I smiled ruefully. My miserable gambling habit would be indulged no longer. I was a penniless man.

I was not yet brave enough to seek employment. While capable enough in my field, I did not want to deal with human interaction. I craved for companionship, but shuddered at the idea of large crowds. What an ironic state of being I had thrust myself into. And even if I managed to adapt once again to social life, my sleepless nights and constant fits were in no way acceptable in the working force.

Again, the thought of my hotel room came to mind. The dark nights with nothing but my horrifying nightmares of Afghanistan to keep me company filled my brain. The sun was beginning to set and the idea of being alone another evening sent me into panic. I began to feel another wave of hellish terror enter my mind.

Not here, I begged silently. Oh, please don't let it be now. But it was too late; altering course, I took a side street and wandered down a quiet lane in hopes of remaining unseen as another fit took hold.

The doctor called them panic attacks. A neurological problem of the brain due to the stress and traumatic encounters I had experienced while in the military. While his clinical and nonchalant diagnosis may have been seen as nothing to him; it was a living nightmare to me. Anxiety was normal. Fear was rational. Unsettled emotions were to be expected. Pure madness and flashbacks so vivid I could paint them were not.

My hands were shaking uncontrollably and I steadied myself against the wall; dropping my cane to the ground with a clatter. My breath came raggedly as I struggled to keep at bay the demons that haunted my existence. A gunshot so real I swear I could hear it echo down the alley shattered through my brain and I flinched as the images began to play.

A man; old enough to have seen the horrors of war but young enough to show the terror any person feels in a battle for survival. Running. He wasn't going to make it. I call to him; he doesn't hear and in one second, lays motionless on the hot desert sand.

Three men this time; hiding. The looks of shock as they are discovered. Gone.

A medical tent; hot. Blindingly white fabric against the browns and grays of the landscape. Cries, screams, prayers, curses, all being uttered as the stretchers come in one after another. How many will live? How many will die? How many have family at home? Mothers, father, wives, children?

I felt my legs go weak as the last image approached. Of all the things I had seen, of all the screams I had heard, this memory, this scar branded in my mind, was the worse.

It was a boy. Barely seventeen. He had forged his papers and run away from home to be a war hero. I watched with an almost otherworldly dread as my mind's eye wheeled in the gurney and I catch a glimpse of a face that I will never forget. It was his eyes that held me most: filled with fear and pain and a distrust of the world that hadn't been there before. I did my best to save him. I was holding his hand when he died.

I forced myself to breathe. Deep, shaky breaths that struggle through my chest and escape in smothered sobs. I felt my resolve fading and sink slowly to the ground in a pathetic heap. I was selfish in my misery. Why should I complain of life when those souls had unfairly lost their own?

It was dark before I could gather myself together. I searched for my cane and pulled myself slowly to me feet. The chill of the evening hurt my leg and it was several breathless seconds before I could balance precariously on my one good leg. Despite the cold, I did not want to return to my hotel room. At least out in the open I had a sense of escape.

I took a few stumbling steps as I tried to find a way around the bins and boxes stacked haphazardly in the alley. My foot connected to a hard surface and I cursed at the pain. Something cried out in surprise and I jumped nearly a foot in the air, despite my injured leg.

When nothing threatening appeared, I grew curious and peered cautiously around the crate. It was hard to make out in the dim light, but the sound was unmistakable. I felt both foolish for my fear and pleased at my discovery. It was a dog. Merely a pup really. Young and scrawny and completely filthy from its life on the streets.

I felt the first genuine smile since returning home spread across my face. The pup barked a warning at me and bared his fangs as I laughed.

"Tough fellow are you?"

I got another bark in response. It was the first conversation I'd had in weeks.

I was struck suddenly with a most absurd and foolish notion. But given my current circumstance, I cared little for rational thinking. Eager to learn more about this new acquaintance before I changed my mind, I spoke rapidly. "I don't suppose you'd like to come and dine with me this evening, would you? It will be a small affair. Bread and marmite and whatever else we can acquire. Simple really."

The pup looked surprised at my tone and he twitched his tail hesitantly.

"Splendid. I knew you wouldn't turn down such an invitation. Shall we go to my place?"

I was beginning to feel foolish for talking to an animal, but the idea of having at least someone to talk to was comforting, be them human or not.

Determining that returning to my hotel was the better option, I then begin to proceed on how to get the dog home. He stiffened when I moved to pick him up, and there was no way I would be able to balance a squirming pup and my injured frame at once. I didn't trust the dog to follow me. At least, not yet.

I was nearly ready to give up, new acquaintance or not, when I was struck with inspiration. I tied a piece of string I had found in the alley earlier to be used as a sort of leash around the dog's neck and tied that end to one of the large crates.

"There," I said proudly. "Now you can't get away. I'll be but ten minutes and then we can go to the hotel."

The dog yawned in a bored fashion and circled as if to lie down to sleep.

Paying his lack of excitement no heed, I hurried as fast as my limp would allow back to my hotel room and rummaged quickly through my dresser drawers. Crying out in triumph as I found what I was looking for, I again made the walk down to the alleyway.

The dog was sleeping when I arrived, but raised his head as I tugged at the leash.

"C'mon, boy." I entreated gently as I scoped him up. He was lighter than I had expected and docile as I helped him gently into my medical bag. It was a Gladstone medical bag, one that a friend had given me before I left for the military as a sort of going away present. I hadn't used it during my service, being provided with a military ordered kit, but the bag came into use now.

I tested my weight carefully as I rose with my delicate load. The dog seemed to like the confined space and stuck his head out the top with a panting smile. We must have looked an odd pair, the dog and I. Thankfully, it was full dark and no one paid us much attention as we walked along.

It appeared that my world was not to be lonely much longer.


	2. Chapter 2

"You must eat something." I coaxed the lethargic ball of fur lying on the floor.

We had made it back to the hotel with little difficulty. I had expected to attract curious looks with my squirming medical bag, but the other occupants in the building had paid me little attention as I climbed the stairs to my room. It wasn't until I had released the now yelping dog from his prison and he had relieved himself most inappropriately in the corner did I begin to realize the consequences of my actions.

The logical decision would be to clean up the mess, leave the dog on the streets and carry on as if it had been nothing but a momentary lack of judgment. But something in the soulful eyes of the frail creature looking up at me persuaded me otherwise. Perhaps it was because I felt like I was looking into a mirror. The dog's own brown eyes mimicked an emotion I had often felt before. The poor thing was lonely.

I walked to my dresser and pulled out a packet of biscuits. I opened the package with a great deal of show to entice the dog and held one under his nose. "Here, boy."

The brown eyes now held a look that was slightly sardonic.

I looked at the biscuit in my hand. Counting the package of biscuits to my food supply, I also had a loaf of bread and a jar of marmite left. _Such was the reward of the_ _valiant soldier_, I thought dryly. Not that it mattered much. I had cared little for food since returning home.

I broke the biscuit in two and held out a piece. "Do you prefer to share, is that it?" I nibbled slowly on my half and tried not to let my hands shake. Truth be told, I could not recall the last time I had eaten.

Understanding seemed to dawn as the dog watched me polish off my portion and he hesitantly reached for the food I held out to him. His painstaking nervousness was heartbreaking as I saw him try to take the food and keep an eye on me at the same time. In such a short life time, the creature had already seen abuse.

Before I could blink, the biscuit was gone with hardly a crumb to speak of its existence and I was being prodded by a wet nose for more. Laughing, I gave him a whole one and pulled out the loaf of bread for myself.

"It looks like we were both hungry."

The dog ignored my comment and sniffed busily in any direction that led towards food. He was so deeply focused on the task that he gave quite a start when he ran into the jar of marmite that fell over with a clatter.

"You won't like that stuff." I informed him as he curiously sniffed the jar. "It was included in everything we ate while in Afghanistan and I would be lying if I said I wanted to eat it again. It's yours if you really want it."

I unscrewed the lid and put the jar in front of him as I would a feeding bowl. Either canines have no sense of taste, or this pup in particular had a very peculiar liking for disgusting food, because I watched in amazement as he licked the whole container clean in a matter of minutes.

"Beggars can't be choosers has been your motto, I suppose." I spoke languidly as the pup flopped beside me on the floor. "That's the way I used to feel. I had everything going for me. I had graduated from medical school and was engaged to a beautiful girl named Rose. But you know what happened?" I scratched the furry, listening ears beside me. "She left me for Richard Blackstone. How I hate that fellow. It was my own stupidity really. Blackstone and I had been friends at school and I introduced the two at a small get together. I should have known better than to let my beautiful girl associate with the likes of him."

The dog gave a deep sigh in agreement and I continued on."I had nothing left for me; I was angry and hurt and when I heard about the need for soldiers in a country so far away that no one there would have even heard of a John Watson and his misery, I signed up and was deployed three weeks later. The gall of it all was that Rose somehow heard of me joining the military and had the nerve to send me a wedding invitation."

I shifted my lame leg into a better position. Sitting on the floor was not as comfortable as it used to be. "And here I am now. Discharged from the army with a permanent injury all before the age of thirty. Pretty bleak prospects, don't you think?"

The room was still except for the sound of gentle snoring from the bull dog at my side. I don't suppose I could have asked for a better response.


End file.
